A Very Blurry Evening
by Yumemisama
Summary: [Duklyon] A short, near-pointless piece of fluff featuring Takeshi, Kentarou, and some spiked punch. *shounen-ai*


"Takepon!"  
  
Shuukaidou Takeshi flinched. He found his stride again and kept walking.  
  
"Darling!"  
  
This time, Takeshi froze entirely, struggling to keep his entire body from blushing. Higashikunimaru Kentarou, not the wealthiest student at the CLAMP Campus, but definitely from one of the top five families, vaulted out of the limousine and bounded over to where Takeshi was standing.  
  
"What?" Takeshi gritted, feeling every eye in the school on the two of them. He tried, and failed, to shrink.  
  
"I'm inviting you to a graduation party!" Kentarou chirped happily. He produced an envelope from Takeshi-didn't-want-to-know-where and handed it over. "Saturday, at my house." He beamed that irrepressible beam that made Takeshi want to deny ever having met him.  
  
Takeshi took the envelope from the walking cloud of cheerfulness like it was about to bite him. He peered at it suspiciously. "How big is this going to be?"  
  
"Oh, small, small," Kentarou assured him. "Not like New Year's Eve."  
  
Takeshi remembered New Year's Eve. Takeshi wished he didn't. He liked to think he had too much dignity to be sprayed with Silly String, showered with cake sprinkles and tossed into the pool again, but he wouldn't bet on anyone else agreeing.  
  
"Okay," he said dubiously. "As long as it's nothing major…"  
  
"No, no, no. Just a few friends, a little bit of food, and some punch. Nothing big at all." Kentarou grinned madly. "A little something to celebrate the high school graduation of Campus Cop Dukl—"  
  
Takeshi grabbed Kentarou, pinned him to the nearest tree with an elbow, and clamped a hand over both his nose and mouth. "That's a secret," he hissed, as he had hissed virtually every single time Kentarou had opened his mouth in the past four years. "Remember? Secret."  
  
"Oh, of course," Kentarou said, waving his worry aside as he struggled out of Takeshi's pin. A pair of girls passed by, hands to their lips to smother the giggles, and Takeshi promptly let go of Kentarou and stood a respectable three feet away.  
  
Takeshi uncrumpled the invitation from the palm of his hand. "Small? You promise?"  
  
"Oh, yes. I promise."  
  
"You lie," Takeshi said bluntly, standing near the doorway to Kentarou's living room about nine-ish that Saturday night. "This party and the concept of small have nothing in common."  
  
"It's only a few hundred people," Kentarou demurred, interrupting himself momentarily to greet an Ohkawa, an Igarashi, two Higashikunimaru cousins and a pair of Imonoyama siblings. "Only close friends."  
  
Suddenly, Takeshi felt the urge to begin banging his head against the wall. Or maybe begin banging Kentarou's head against the wall instead. "You invited our entire graduating class!"  
  
"Of course! It would be rude to leave any of them out…."  
  
"And most of their siblings."  
  
"Only the ones I know well," Kentarou protested. "Like the Imonoyamas." He gestured over at the knot of girls that surrounded Imonoyama Nokoru, whom Takeshi, in a fit of panic, had nearly mistaken for their Director at least three times already. "They're all so charming!"  
  
Takeshi groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Kentarou, you're something else."  
  
Kentarou smiled broadly. "Thank you!"  
  
Takeshi, at that point, wandered off before Kentarou could suck any more of his sanity away, and found an eye-catching girl who was apparently related to the Yuudaijis to dance with for most of the night. People passed between and around them in a swirl of colors that got swirlier and swirlier until Takeshi, around about eleven, realized that some ingenious soul had decided to spike the punch. He laid off the punch bowl, sticking to soda cans, and watched everyone get drunker and drunker, including the Yuudaiji girl, while he stayed more or less as muzzy as he was planning on getting. The Yuudaiji girl seemed to have figured it out as well, and was determined to get as wasted as possible before she had to go home.  
  
He had just begun to develop a distinct curiosity about finding out where she lived when the clock struck an ungodly hour of morning and Kentarou bundled his redhead, along with most everyone else, into one of a waiting line of taxicabs and shipped her back to her place of residence. A few people were still sober enough to get themselves home; about half the Imonoyamas of age could still walk a straight line, and the oldest Ohkawa girl was steady on her feet, if not with her words. Kentarou had to lean against the front gate to yell his partings to everybody, but he made it out without much fuss.  
  
"I should probably go home now," Takeshi said, watching taxi after taxi pull away from the drive. He winced when he realized he probably smelled like whatever had been in the punch; meeting up with his parents wouldn't be fun.  
  
"Oh, you can stay," Kentarou said, cheerful as ever. "I'm sure no one will mind."  
  
Takeshi contemplated what would happen if he came home drunk tonight, or sober and with Kentarou vouching for him the next morning. "Okay."  
  
He and Kentarou wandered back inside the house and were chased out again almost as quickly by the cleaning staff, who arrived about two-thirty-ish and began to reassemble the wreck that was once the Higashikunimaru mansion. A few of them grumbled about being in to work this early, but Takeshi couldn't feel all that sorry for them; if he knew Kentarou's parents, the crew was probably making triple-time for sweeping up the remains of the festivities. The boys scooped up as many bags of chips as they could carry, swiped the remains of the punch as the kitchen workers decanted it from bowls to gallon bottles, and retreated to the guest house on the far end of Kentarou's backyard.  
  
"That wasn't so bad, now was it, Takepon?" Kentarou asked, trying to get the door closed and discovering his hands were too full.  
  
Takeshi kicked the door shut. "Don't call me Takepon," he snapped, more out of habit than anything else.  
  
"Why shouldn't I call you Takepon, Takepon?" persisted Kentarou, following Takeshi into the cottage and back to the small living room. Takeshi nearly started yelling until he turned around and realized, from the mad grin on Kentarou's face, that Kentarou was only teasing.  
  
"Because I don't like it," he said simply, letting the load of junk food in his arms fall into a messy heap on the floor. Takeshi plopped ungracefully down next to it.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"It's childish." Takeshi fished a stack of plastic party cups out from the mess just before Kentarou added his pile into it and poured it full of punch. He held it out. "Kentarou?"  
  
Kentarou blinked. "Saa. I suppose it is." He took the cup and stared blankly into it. Granted, the punch was peach and sickly-sweet, and granted, they weren't at all sure what it was that had been used to spike it; but Kentarou had been drinking the stuff all night, and somehow Takeshi thought it was a little late for him to get suspicious.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
"Eh? Just thinking. I guess if there's any time for me to finally grow up, it's probably now." Kentarou drained half the cup in one drink and collapsed in a leggy heap onto the rug, opposite his friend across the tower of junk. "I'm going into college next fall. I suppose I can handle calling you Takeshi."  
  
Takeshi dropped a handful of chips, thankfully back into the bag. "Who are you and what have you done with Higashikunimaru Kentarou?"  
  
"Ha ha. I can be serious, you know."  
  
"I don't think I've ever seen you serious."  
  
"Certainly you have. What about when we graduated elementary school?"  
  
"You gave a valedictorian speech about baking cakes."  
  
"Middle school?"  
  
"You gave a valedictorian speech about being a good wife. With props."  
  
Kentarou paused. "That's right. I did. I think I've still got the apron."  
  
"My point is, you're always a clown. So naturally when you start sobering up, I'm going to check to make sure you're not a pod person." Takeshi went back over that and frowned. That hadn't come out as funny-ha-ha as he'd meant it to. Kentarou, at least, wasn't laughing.  
  
"I thought you wanted me to be more normal."  
  
"I do, but—" Takeshi stopped. The short pause was all it took to make the train of thought drift off into space and be lost to him forever. "Why on Earth do you still have that apron?"  
  
"I never throw anything away," Kentarou said, smiling again. "You never know when it may come in handy."  
  
"An apron, Kentarou?"  
  
"Sure. What if the home ec class invites me in as a guest chef, and they're short aprons? Ken-pi to the rescue!" he crowed, stabbing one finger triumphantly up into the air.  
  
"…you can give up on Takepon, but you're still going to call yourself Ken- pi?"  
  
"Sure. I can be as foolish as I want, to myself."  
  
"I'm not sure that works when you yell it aloud."  
  
"I'll mime it," Kentarou promised impishly. Takeshi groaned, finishing his cup of punch and reaching for the potato chips for moral support.  
  
"How do you propose to mime 'Ken-pi to the rescue'?" Takeshi asked. A moment afterwards, he knew he was going to regret it.  
  
To his immense relief, Kentarou did not immediately jump up and demonstrate. "I could come sweep you off your feet and carry you to safety," he suggested. Kentarou refilled his cup and grinned.  
  
"Uh, no thanks. And not one word about a honeymoon," he added before Kentarou could speak again. "If you're going to give up on Takepon, you can give up on that stupid joke, too."  
  
Kentarou sulked. "But why? What if I don't want to give up on honeymooning with you?"  
  
"Which one of us was it that was talking about growing up?"  
  
"That is grown up," Kentarou said softly. "But I suppose…."  
  
"Suppose what?" demanded Takeshi, annoyed. "Suppose you're going to go on yelling it in the middle of school for the next four years?" Takeshi winced at his own tone of voice. That was a little louder than he'd intended to be. "It's embarrassing."  
  
"Mou, ne. All right, all right." A wicked gleam suddenly sparked in Kentarou's honey-brown eyes. "Anything to make my Takepon happy."  
  
Takeshi set his cup of punch down far out of range and launched himself over the mound of potato chip bags and cookie boxes to tackle Kentarou. Kentarou went down, flat on his back on the floor, grinning like a madman.  
  
"Why, Takepon," he said sweetly, "I didn't know you cared."  
  
Both of them lunged for the sitting room couch and the cache of pillows thereon, scrambling over each other to arm themselves. Takeshi was a bit taller and had a longer reach, but Kentarou was faster, getting in the first whack of the pillow fight – squarely to Takeshi's right shoulder. Takeshi countered with a couch cushion to the head and the two boys continued pelting each other with overstuffed shams, folded blankets and throw pillows until they were out of useful ammunition and collapsed, panting, to the floor.  
  
"Please don't call me Takepon," Takeshi wheezed. "I mean it."  
  
"Then don't tell me what I want is immature," panted Kentarou in return, reaching for his punch cup, miraculously unspilled. He drained it, poured another, and drained that one as well.  
  
"Huh?" said Takeshi, intelligently.  
  
"I promise I won't shout it out in public, but stop telling me it's stupid." Kentarou had reverted to sulking again, slumped against the panels of a window seat that jutted out into the room. "I can be as much of an idiot as I want in private. I was hoping that since we're best friends, I could let the idiocy out in front of you, too, but I guess I can't have everything."  
  
Takeshi stared. Attempting to add two and two was only getting him three and change right now. He poured another cup of punch in an attempt to make even the change go away. "Kentarou," he said. "You need a girlfriend."  
  
His friend made a face and reached for the chips. "She wouldn't get very far with me."  
  
"What about that Yuudaiji girl I was dancing with? Hinako. Isn't she pretty enough?"  
  
"She's pretty," Kentarou said. "I'd love to talk with her sometime. It wouldn't make any difference, though."  
  
Takeshi added two and two again and not only did the change stubbornly refuse to disappear, but the three was looming larger. "Don't you like girls?"  
  
"Certainly I like girls," Kentarou answered. He reached back and hauled himself up onto the window seat, slim legs sprawling down its length, then put a hand down again to pluck his cup from the floor. "I've never seen so many beautiful women as on campus. Tall ones, short ones, dark hair, fair hair, demure, spitfires – I don't know what I'd do if they weren't around to make my days brighter." He took another drink. "But I don't like them like that."  
  
Takeshi gazed stupidly at a spot on the floor for a while. "Oh."  
  
"So you and your Yuudaiji Hinako are safe," continued Kentarou, pretending to be oblivious. His voice was tinny, falsely bright, and Takeshi couldn't see his face – Kentarou was staring out the window into the wisteria and greenery outside. "I'd never try to steal her from you, beautiful and charming as she is."  
  
"Oh," said Takeshi again. For a change of pace, he stared uncomfortably at his cup instead, giving the floor a rest. "Huh." He cleared his throat. "So... you, uh...."  
  
"I won't tease you anymore," promised Kentarou. "But I wouldn't want you to waste time on my account, trying to find me a girlfriend."  
  
"Sure thing," Takeshi said, nodding fervently, glad he finally had a coherent statement cobbled together from the flotsam in his brain. "But, um... I don't really see... I don't know how you can... they're not even curved...." Takeshi started smoothing a woman's figure out of the air with his hands, but they didn't quite know how to get back into synch, and he gave up. "I don't get how you can be attracted to men," he blurted. Then stopped, an awful thought suddenly striking him. "You are attracted to men... right?"  
  
Kentarou gazed straight at him, owl-eyed and serious, then burst into howls of laughter, curling up on the upholstered cushion in spasms. "You know," he said, brushing tears from his face, "for a moment there I was tempted to tell you it was sheep, just to see you turn that funny color."  
  
Takeshi felt his face heat up, certain it was turning fiercely red. "Kentarou—"  
  
"You're turning it anyway."  
  
"Knock it off, willya?" Takeshi muttered, annoyed. "I was just trying to... just... oh, never mind." He gave up in the face of Kentarou's hysterical giggling, filled his cup to the top again and drank most of it, willing the blush to drain away from his face.  
  
"I'm sorry... Takepon... but the look on your face...." Kentarou shook his head. "Anyway, men have curves, too. All humans do. It's mostly a matter of moving with grace, but there are physical things, too. The arch at the back of a bent knee, the slope of shoulders, the subtle line down the side of your neck... Takepon, you're turning that color again."  
  
Takeshi didn't bother correcting him again. To hell with it, anyway. "How do you know you don't like girls, anyway? Have you ever kissed one?"  
  
"Once," said Kentarou, getting his breath back after the second laughing fit. "But a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell."  
  
Takeshi gave him a flat glare.  
  
"...except to their best friends." Kentarou grinned, flashing white teeth. Takeshi preferred to think this was a joke and a courtesy, and not a survival reaction triggered by his having picked up a throw pillow moments before, aiming it at Kentarou's head.  
  
"When was this?"  
  
"Tenth grade."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Really."  
  
"Who was it?"  
  
"You remember... Minagi Kaoru?"  
  
Takeshi dug deep into his brain, trying to get past the cottony fuzz to actual memories. "Blonde? Green eyes? With the little cat that followed her around at lunch?"  
  
Kentarou nodded. "That's her."  
  
"So what happened?"  
  
"She asked me to a party. I talked with her and danced and kept her company. Nothing much happened."  
  
"And you kissed her?"  
  
"She kissed me," Kentarou corrected. "When I took her home. It wasn't a real kiss, though. Punch," he added, peering into his cup.  
  
"Huh? Oh." Takeshi handed over the bottle. He frowned. "So, you made it all the way through high school without ever...?"  
  
"Yep," said Kentarou sadly. "No one's ever taught me how." Then his face changed completely, split by a wide, wicked grin. "Of course, if you know anyone willing to teach me, don't hesitate to say so. You must meet an awful lot of them when I'm not around, to complain about your strange life the way you do."  
  
"Well, there is Erii." He thought. "And Sukiyabashi." Thought some more. "And the Director." Continued onward. "But I really think it's mostly you."  
  
"What's mostly me, Takepon?"  
  
"The weirdness. You just got weirder as you got older. You were normal in first grade."  
  
Kentarou pondered this, munching on a handful of chips. "You know, Takepon, normal isn't such a set thing as you might think."  
  
Takeshi opened his mouth, closed it again, regrouped his thoughts and opened it a second time. "You're being nonsensical again."  
  
"Not really. Don't I come to school every morning, lean out my window and shout 'Darling!' to get your attention?"  
  
"Yes. I wish you wouldn't."  
  
"This happens every day?"  
  
"Yes. As I said, I wish it didn't."  
  
"So, if I didn't lean out the window one day, or shouted something different, like 'Takeshi!' – that would be different, ne?"  
  
"Thankfully, yes."  
  
"So—wouldn't that be normal for us?"  
  
Takeshi eyeballed his friend with grave misgivings about the conversation hovering in the back of his mind. "Excuse me?"  
  
"Normal is that thing you do every day. That routine you follow. Don't we have a routine?"  
  
"I—I guess. But that's not normal!" Takeshi protested. "Normal also means things that other people do daily. Other people do not have Higashikunimaru hanging out their car window to shout endearments across campus!"  
  
Kentarou clamped his lips shut. "Maybe they should."  
  
Takeshi heaved himself over a few feet to slump against the window seat Kentarou occupied, letting his head thunk against the wood. He didn't really feel it. His brain was on the verge of shutting down, too tired and alcohol-soaked to figure out what Kentarou wanted and too fuzzy to remember long enough to ask about it. No response – or even meaning – for that last statement sprang easily to mind, and Takeshi was almost ready to say to hell with it all and pass out on the floor.  
  
"Kentarou," he said, "if you think you mean something by that, explain it now, because I'm not going to get it. Otherwise, find something more sensical to talk about."  
  
For a moment, Kentarou was quiet. "As much as I want you to be happy, Takeshi, I don't think it's possible for you to ever be the kind of 'normal' you want. Not now, and not ever. You just... aren't."  
  
"Kentarou, remember what I said about explaining...."  
  
"There are normal people in this world," Kentarou cut in. "They go to school, go to work, go out with friends, and they never, ever do anything out of the ordinary. They don't change anything. But you do. By going to CLAMP Campus, by being in Duklyon, by fighting aliens and going to parties with the Imonoyamas." He took another drink, swallowing the last of the punch in one tense motion. "You can't be normal again, Takeshi. You've already done too much. You've changed the world. At least," he added, "you changed my world." Kentarou reached downwards and set his cup down on the bare board floor with a final, echoic, hollow noise, and then tucked his hands neatly back into his lap and resumed staring silently out the window.  
  
What. The. Hell? Takeshi stared, dumbfounded, at Kentarou's empty cup. There was something very, very important in that monologue. Very, very important. He just had to figure out what it was before Kentarou went and did something stupid like brush it aside. That, judging from Kentarou's tone, would be bad.  
  
Changing the world was an awfully funny thing for Kentarou to be talking about. Under normal circumstances, absolutely nothing could dislodge the manic smile from Kentarou's face, whether he was taking a final exam or trying to rescue hostages. Changing Kentarou's world would have taken a hell of a lot of effort that Takeshi didn't recall putting forth, unless Kentarou was counting all the energy he'd spent trying to stomp down the shouts of Darling! and happy twittering gushing remarks about honeymoons....  
  
A little buzzer went off in the back of his brain. Ding! it said. Not a joke. And then fell silent.  
  
Takeshi poured himself another cup of courage. Then another. Kentarou seemed to find the wisteria fascinating. Takeshi poured a third. Then he set the empty punch jug down on the wooden boards and reseated himself on the very corner of the window bench, next to Kentarou's feet.  
  
"Okay," he said. "Convince me we should honeymoon together." Kentarou looked at him as if he'd grown a second head. "You've got ten minutes," Takeshi added. "Go."  
  
Kentarou looked off into empty space for a little bit, then asked, "How?"  
  
"Any way you want."  
  
The other half of Duklyon gave a small smile. "You'll have to put your cup down."  
  
Takeshi choked. "Talk first."  
  
"You never were any fun. Let's see... I'm rich. I'm popular. I'm housebroken and I don't shed... oh! I'm star of the track team, too. I have excellent grades. I'm witty, and friendly, and fun to be around. But really, I think the most important reason is that I'm in love with you, and I want to make you happy." Kentarou gave a lopsided smile, aimed at Takeshi, who had been trying to drink but who was having a great deal of trouble getting himself to swallow after that last. "I won't say I'll do anything you tell me, but I'll do anything for you... Takeshi? Are you breathing?"  
  
"No," Takeshi croaked, fighting his drink every inch of the way. He coughed a couple of times and then resolved not to try and ingest anything next time he gave Kentarou permission to do that. Kentarou dove to the other side of the bench and started pounding his friend on the back.  
  
"I'm all right! I'm all right!" Takeshi inhaled to prove it, coughed one more time, and glared warningly at Kentarou when Kentarou threatened to start pounding again. "I can breathe, I'm getting oxygen, I'm fine."  
  
"Good. I'd be upset if you died on me after all that."  
  
Takeshi fell back against the window to stop the room spinning. Kentarou, hesitant, settled back beside him.  
  
"So?"  
  
"So what?" Takeshi asked.  
  
"Did I convince you?"  
  
"Eh? Oh. Ask me when I'm sober."  
  
"All right."  
  
Kentarou slung his legs across the cushion, one foot propped up insouciantly on the stray pillow that used to be beneath his back, the other leg bent at the knee and leaned crookedly against the window. If he looked long enough, Takeshi thought, he might be able to see the curves Kentarou had talked about. A gentle round at the back of his knee, swelling into the muscle of his calf, trailing down the other way to define the line of his thigh; an arch, shallow and long, from his chin into his throat, into his shoulders and chest; the round of his back, braced like a bent branch between upright wall and flat bench. It was something he had never bothered to see before, and he studied it as the wisteria outside caught moonlight, then pale pearled dawn. Kentarou, breathing soft and even, became a dark silhouette as he slept, outlined more and more sharply as the sun continued to rise.  
  
Takeshi must have nodded off, just for a little bit, because he was quite abruptly awakened when Kentarou tried to roll over and nearly pushed both of them off the bench. Kentarou woke up as well, shuffling around with his hands to find the pillows and blinking blearily.  
  
"I'm dizzy," he said distinctly, leaning heavily on the upholstered cushion with one hand and Takeshi's leg with the other.  
  
"I just thought the walls were moving," muttered Takeshi, disengaging his feet and using them to hold the floor steady. His head already hurt; he didn't want to consider what he'd feel like after he'd slept ten or twelve hours. "Where's the bedroom?" he asked. Then reconsidered. "Where's the bathroom?"  
  
"That way, both cases," Kentarou answered, pointing in a wavering circle.  
  
Together, they stood up, and between the two of them managed to make it to the bedroom and fold down the covers on the sole, king-sized bed. By the time Takeshi was done taking his own unsteady turn in the small bathroom, one side of the quilt was already bundled up around a lump that looked suspiciously like Higashikunimaru Kentarou, sans the shoes, socks, slacks and shirt that were puddled on the floor by his nightstand. Takeshi looked at the pile of discarded clothing, pondered, shrugged with supreme apathy and stripped down to his shorts before rolling onto the other side of the bed. Whatever he suspected was romping merrily through his companion's mind, one thing he could be certain of was that Kentarou would be too drunk to accomplish any of it, no matter what it was, for a good many hours yet.  
  
As will I, he thought blurrily. Thank God. Takeshi fumbled with the covers and finally succeeded in pulling them over his head, burrowing between the top sheet and the feather bed until all that could be seen from the outside was a short tuft of dark hair on the white pillow. He was obscurely aware, as if from a long way away, of rolling over and wrapping his arms around sweet-smelling skin, and then all was peace and darkness until the next day, when terrible, evil, sadistic knives of bright light came lancing across the guest room to stab him directly in the brain.  
  
"Ow," Takeshi moaned faintly from far, far under the pillow where he was giving a good try at smothering himself. "Turn it off."  
  
"I can't," whimpered Kentarou. "We forgot to close the curtains last night."  
  
"We? You. It's your guest cottage."  
  
"You could walk upright the best," came the muffled reply. Takeshi gradually became aware that what felt like a frightened animal trying to bury itself in his chest was, in fact, Kentarou, hiding from the noontime sun. Efforts to dislodge him and make him go close the drapes were thwarted by the fact that Kentarou had his arms wrapped tightly around Takeshi's waist, and that Kentarou had his legs expertly tangled, and that Kentarou was producing the most pathetic pained noises Takeshi had ever heard him make.  
  
"Fine. I'll go close the curtains." But Kentarou still wouldn't let go, and Takeshi had to settle for dragging the top blanket over their heads again. It was stuffy, but at least it wasn't bright.  
  
They lay there for a good ten minutes, thankful for the lack of sunlight.  
  
"Kentarou? What are you doing?"  
  
"Ah—I'm sorry." Kentarou began quickly to unravel the knot he'd tied both of them into.  
  
"No, I mean with your foot. That twitchy thing."  
  
"I do that when I'm nervous."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Like when I'm in a bed, wearing next to nothing, with you, and you're being very quiet," Kentarou clarified. "You know. Nervous."  
  
"...uh-huh."  
  
"You... do... remember that conversation... right?"  
  
"Uh, yes. Very well."  
  
"Oh, good. I don't think I can do it justice with a quick reprise."  
  
"I don't think you could either. That was really weird."  
  
"Being drunk?"  
  
"...being drunk enough to give this a chance."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"You sound disappointed."  
  
"I'll be okay. You're being very nice about it."  
  
"Aren't you going to ask me first?"  
  
"Ask you what?"  
  
"If you convinced me."  
  
There was no sound from Kentarou's side of the bed for several minutes. "I'm afraid to," he said at last. "I think I'd rather not know for sure."  
  
"You lost that option when you started this whole thing," Takeshi informed him, grabbing blindly for Kentarou's arm and hauling him back over to the middle of the mattress. "You're getting an answer, and you're going to live with it."  
  
Kentarou tensed, holding his breath, and waited. Takeshi would have bet anything he had his eyes tightly shut, in the darkness. Quickly, before he could lose his nerve completely, Takeshi dragged Kentarou closer and pressed a kiss to his forehead.  
  
He heard Kentarou breathe again. "Takepon...."  
  
"Don't make me rethink this," Takeshi growled.  
  
Kentarou gave a quick, quiet laugh. "Sou. Takeshi."  
  
Takeshi inhaled deep and let it out slowly, trying to make his shoulders relax. "I was thinking about what you said, about it being too late for me to be normal, I guess. But I still want to be a little bit normal, if I can, and – it's not normal for people to be alone, right? Not all the time. I guess – what I'm trying to say is—"  
  
"Shh," said Kentarou, laying a finger across Takeshi's lips. Takeshi stopped, startled by the sudden, small intimacy. He swallowed hard. "Explain yourself later. You've said more than enough to make me happy now."  
  
"Ah...."  
  
"Go back to sleep," Kentarou chided, laughing ever so faintly. "I am."  
  
~Owari 


End file.
